"Eat," he prompted quietly, but there was a firmness to his tone. He watched as she absently stirred her spoon in her soup, the act so out of character it gnawed at him.
"Why aren't you eating?" he asked, more sharply this time.
She drew a shaky breath, her gaze cast downward. "I don't think I can stomach anything for a while," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
Though he could guess the reason, he asked anyway. "Why?"
After a long pause, Salviana lifted her gaze to meet his, her expression pained. "Those hounds… they're dead," she said quietly.
"Yes," he confirmed, unflinchingly. "I killed them."
Her spoon clattered onto the plate, and she looked at him, wide-eyed. Knowing it was one thing, but hearing him admit it so casually made the reality of it sink in, unsettling her.
"Alaric…" Her voice broke, uncertain, and her words stumbled over themselves, her thoughts tangled with confusion. "They were innocent."
His gaze darkened. "Would you have preferred I killed the women?" he retorted, pushing a cut piece of meat toward her, though it was clear he was still focused on her answer.
She recoiled slightly, her voice barely a tremor. "How can you kill so easily?"
His eyes bore into hers, unwavering. "How could they disrespect you so completely?" He took a steadying breath before continuing, "You think I wanted to kill that ugly hound?" The anger simmered beneath his voice. "No. It was for revenge."
The realization struck her, and her chest tightened. "We… we're not like that," she murmured, her voice wavering.
Alaric's eyes narrowed. "I am Salviana. I am definitely like that. Your husband is a vampire who kills, not just in battle."
At his words, the cutlery slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor as she stared at him, her throat tight with a mixture of fear, frustration, and something else she couldn't quite place.
Alaric abruptly pushed his chair back and stormed out of the dining room, leaving Salviana frozen, her thoughts spiraling as she tried to make sense of his fury.
A moment later, she sprang to her feet, her skirts trailing as she chased after him through the corridor, her heart racing as she called his name.
"Alaric—" she started, but his hand shot up, silencing her.
"They hurt my wife!" he growled, his voice thick with rage.
"But here I am, unharmed! I'm fine!" she cried, exasperation lacing her voice, each word pleading with him to understand.
He swallowed hard, his gaze softening just a fraction as he looked at her. "Go inside, Salviana. You cannot make me neglect you," he said, his tone a strange mixture of defeat and determination.
She took a tentative step forward, her eyes meeting his. "That isn't what I ask of you," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tension in her heart.
His gaze faltered, almost pleading. "You don't know what you need. Stop trying to please them, Salviana, and think of yourself for once."
"Alaric—" she tried again, reaching out, but he cut her off, his voice hardening.
"No… I need to be alone," he barked, his tone sharp and final. Before she could utter another word, he turned and disappeared from sight, leaving her standing there, her shoulders hunched and her pulse pounding as she tried to piece together what had just unfolded.
The silence around her seemed to stretch endlessly, each beat of her heart a painful echo of his words.
~~~{────────────
Afternoon.
Hallways, Wyfkeep Castle.
Wyfellon. Wyfn-Garde.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Alaric stormed down the hallway toward his office, his jaw clenched and his mind racing. He couldn't sit and argue with Salviana, not now.
He knew his words could cut too deeply, and he didn't trust himself to soften them. But she had to understand—his family weren't allies; they were schemers and hypocrites, rich only in cruelty and betrayal.
He wanted her to see it for herself, to know what he was truly up against.
As he stewed in his thoughts, he felt the presence of Lucius, his ever-faithful yet frustratingly meddling spirit companion.
"What is it?" Alaric muttered, barely containing his irritation.
"She's here," Lucius replied with a vague tone, though Alaric knew who he meant—Jean Golliath, the unexpected guest Lucius had foisted upon him. He had no desire to see her.
"Leave me, please," Alaric snapped, his voice low and sharp.
Lucius didn't budge. "I know you just had your first spat with your new wife, but the miss is looking for you." His voice held a teasing lilt that grated on Alaric's nerves.
Ignoring him, Alaric continued walking, his mind drifting back to his last conversation with Lucius. He recalled the exchange with an almost dark amusement:
"What will this miss do in my castle?"
"You'll give her a job," Lucius had answered, completely unfazed.
"She's not becoming a maid, Lucius," Alaric had shot back, irritated.
"Rumor has it that the demon prince dismissed his wife's lady-in-waiting," Lucius countered slyly.
"What exactly are you implying?"
"She can be the little fairy's lady-in-waiting," Lucius suggested.
"She isn't qualified for that," Alaric retorted, trying to dismiss the idea.
"Then let them be friends," Lucius had insisted smoothly.
"I won't handpick friends for my wife," Alaric growled.
"Lady-in-waiting it is, then," Lucius had said with finality, his smugness palpable.
Alaric had merely shaken his head, realizing once again just how troublesome Lucius was. The spirit had undoubtedly caused as much chaos in his life as he'd prevented.
A loud, familiar voice broke Alaric from his reverie. "Oh, here comes Richard!" Lucius chuckled, amused as Alaric's guard and longtime friend came into view, his face twisted into a scowl that looked even deeper than usual.
"Are you cheating on your wife?" Lucius murmured, barely containing his laughter as Richard approached.
Alaric stopped abruptly, shooting Richard a lethal glare. "Do you have a death wish?"
Richard rolled his eyes. "Who's the 'pumpkin' you've brought over, then?"
Lucius growled in Alaric's mind. "Tell him I'll have his head first if he calls Jean a pumpkin again."